I shake my head as if I can somehow magically rattle my thoughts back into place. “I have lunch and I’m not sure what you’re doing here.”
He smirks under his beard causing me to remember I’m sort of upset with him due to his lack of communication. “Jo, you got a lunch break. Carrots, celery, broccoli, and hummus is not a fuckin’ meal unless you’re a damn rabbit.”
“Shhh,” I tell him, “Don’t cuss at work like that. I have to be professional.”
He looks around. “Jo, there are maybe five people in the entire office. One of them being Sara who knows exactly what she gets with me. Now, I had a long couple of days at work and I haven’t had time to check in with you. Managed to get today to pull duty and now, I’m hungry.”
“Duty? I’m not a job, Dean. I’m a person. I understand things are complicated you seeing what you saw with Brett. He’s a problem for me, but one I’m handling with my lawyer and the police. You can be released from your duty.” I absolutely have a sharp tone with my last sentence to get through to him.
His face turns cold, and I back up into my office. He follows, shutting the door behind him, I release quickly my retreat is a mistake.
“Dean,” I whisper his name as my chest tightens, his grip on my neck tightens in a squeeze, but it’s not painful.
“First,” his voice is soft in a rasp, “I will never hurt you, Jo. Not ever. You do not have to fear me. The man I am, I’ll put a bullet in my head before I ever put my hands on an innocent woman or a child in anger, malice, or in any way to harm them. Second, you aren’t a fuckin’ duty. You’re fuckin’ mine. That means you fuckin’ matter. You may not see it, the warped shit that fuckface put you through, but Jo, you’re special. If I didn’t have responsibilities, I’d fuckin’ be at your side all day every day. Had some shit to do, let my brother’s keep watch, now I’m here. Third, I’m fuckin’ hangry. I think you need some food too. Okay. I want to feed you some carbs, I want to eat some meat, and while we eat, we can discuss anything you want. What we’re not gonna do is stand here arguing about releasing me from a duty because you got all twisted in your head. Your ex is a fucker who did a number on you. I won’t pressure you, but I also won’t let you think I am him.” He takes a breath. “Jo, gorgeous, can we please go eat and talk?”
“I have,” I start to speak and his lips crash to mine. Immediately, my mouth opens, and our tongues collide. After a beat I lift my hands to grab his wrists because he’s still got his hands on my neck in this almost comforting way.
He pulls away leaving me wanting and feeling ridiculous at the same time.
“Jo, I know you have lunch. Told you, that is shit. I want to eat, you get a lunch break, so for the love of Pete will you let me take you out for lunch?”
I pause thinking I don’t really know what to say. Therefore, I only nod.
He releases me as he looks to the ceiling, “Thank God we are getting somewhere.”
Putting my hands on my hips, I stare at the man. “I’m not really worth all this headache so you can give up now, Dean.” The words leave my lips, but I didn’t mean to say them out loud.
He drops his head, eyes locked to mine. “Don’t ever say that shit again. You’re worth fuckin’ everything, Josie Schneider. I’m gonna prove it to you one day at a time.”
He grabs me by the hand leading me out of my office. “Just let me show you, Jo,” are his last words before we exit.
I’ve never encountered someone so intense yet gentle at the same time. I’m not sure how I can get through to him, he really is better off without me.
How can this ever work?
Nine
Raff
Whiskey and You – Chris Stapleton
“Lo,” I answer the call slightly out of breath after dropping the six-by-six post I have been fighting to set this afternoon.
Typically, I don’t do the manual labor jobs as much anymore. I have employees, entire crews to do this for me. This project has been plagued with weather delays. I had to send my other crew over for a personal matter leaving me to take on finishing up some things here. I’m a little behind my target tasks to complete today. Typically, I leave my job sites at six sharp. With less than an hour left in the day, I’m not sure I’m going to finish my list without going over my schedule. My frustration with the post only grows as I have to decide to work late or stay on time but do double time on jobs tomorrow. The clay ground in this area can be tough to deal with when trying to set a new porch like I’m doing now. I accounted for the hiccup, but not precisely enough. Now it feels like I’m fighting the clock in my mind. Every second keeps passing and I haven’t finished what I planned for the day. I don’t like to deviate from my usual schedule. Do I stay late or go home on time and deal with trying to catch up tomorrow? The same fight I’ve had over and over in my mind for the last half hour. I guess this call gives me my answer.
“Dean,” her voice is soft, laced in trepidation. “I think we have a situation at my house.”
Instantly, the job in front of me is forgotten. My schedule immediately put aside; I react. “Be there in three.” Ending the call, I jump on my bike and take off for home. The tightness in my chest is a painful reminder of the panic I felt once before. This worry for her is something I am familiar with but can’t explain to her … to anyone.
In precisely three minutes I pull into our driveway with a look of confusion as she stands to the side of her house with a hand on her hip with my foreman shaking his head in front of her. I scan the perimeter looking for Brett, failing to find him, I continue to look and see nothing unexpected. What has her timid?
As I approach, my employee backs away returning to work without anything more than a wave. Once I’m within reach, I take her by the hand and pull her to me. Automatically she falls against me. She doesn’t look scared like she sounded, rather, it would seem she’s frustrated. The simple contact of her in my arms settles the anxiety that I felt riding over here.
“What’s wrong, Jo?” I ask before pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “Did Brett call? Come by?”
She shakes her head. “No. But these men have messed up. They won’t listen to me.” She lets out an exasperated breath. “I shouldn’t have called, I panicked. I didn’t know what else to do. I should have called Sara to let her have Country Boy help me. I’m sorry.” She’s rambling. “It’s just, it’s your money so I thought they would listen to you. I didn’t mean for you to come home. I thought you could talk to them on the phone, but you hung up, and then poof you’re here.” She is maundering nervously and it’s fucking cute.
“First, don’t ever apologize for calling me for anything. Second, you don’t call anyone but me when you need something. Told you I’m in this at your pace. You need something, even a damn box of tampons, I’ll answer, and handle it. Now, what do you mean these men messed up?”
